


Return to grace

by alinewrites



Category: Drake's Venture (1980)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:46:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinewrites/pseuds/alinewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been years since Drake's return and everything is not as it should be...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shimere277](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimere277/gifts).



The heavy London rain had faded to a light drizzle when Sir Francis Drake reached Thomas Doughtie's mansion. The carriage stopped in front of the stairs and he jumped down, stretching his sore muscles.

A servant put down the buckets he was carrying and hurried towards Drake.

"Mylord," he said, bowing in respect and awe.

"Where is Master Doughtie?"

The man pointed towards the stables. "The master is busy breaking in a new horse," he stammered. "I will warn him…"

"Not a word," Drake said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "I want to surprise him."

He turned the corner of the house and saw Doughtie on the field behind the stables, wearing high brown boots, stable lad trousers and a rain-soaked white shirt. With his hair in disarray, he looked more beautiful still than Drake remembered. His whole body taut with the effort, he was holding back a beautiful light-tan stallion. The cautious grooms had stepped back for fear of being hit. The horse was rearing and thrashing the air with its hooves but Doughtie would not let go of the reins and after a moment of ferocious struggle the raging animal gave up, probably exhausted. Doughtie took the opportunity to mount him swiftly, setting off at a gallop to the end of the field and around.

Drake saw him pat the horse softly. The animal snorted and trotted back, Thomas on his back. Drake stepped forward and caught the reins. "Nice show," he said, his voice hoarse with restrained emotion.

Thomas dismounted promptly and threw himself into his arms. "Sir Francis," he whispered, pressing his lean body against his lover's heavy frame. "It has been far too long."

Too long. Thirteen months, six weeks, three days and a growing number of hours since he'd last seen Thomas Doughtie. Too long a separation. It had been in Plymouth. Doughtie had ridden all night to bid him farewell. There were too many people around for anything intimate but Drake had lived on the memory of Doughtie's surreptitious kiss for the whole trip – the warmth of his lips brushing against his, the soft look in his eyes.

Burying his face in the crook of Thomas' neck, Drake kissed the soft sweaty skin, smiling at the shudder that went through his lover and reverberated across his own body.

The grooms had taken the horse inside. The rain strengthened, and Drake ran his hands under the wet fabric of the shirt, stroking warm wet skin. "Let us go inside," Thomas said in a shaky voice. "I must change."

When they reached the room Drake was unable to contain his impatience any longer. "I shall take you with me next time," he said.

Thomas smiled. "Of course you will not. Once was far enough."

The shirt was soaked and it stuck to Thomas' skin, cold, the thin fabric outlining every detail of his chest. Drake helped him pull it away and rubbed his wet back with the palm of his hands to warm it before pressing Thomas against his heavy embroidered jacket.

"When did you come back to England?" Thomas asked, a little breathless.

"We touched Plymouth a fortnight ago. I had to spend some time at Court – you know how the Queen is; she likes my stories and my gold. I left as soon as she allowed me to." He was whispering against Thomas' skin, kissing his neck, his shoulder, his hand roaming across the small of his back, impatient. "Come on, Thomas, disrobe. You are killing me."

"It takes more than that to kill a dragon," Doughtie said, looking pleased. Pulling away he kicked off his boots, yanking down the rough trousers and standing naked and proud.

Drake took some time to just watch, his gaze roaming up and down the exposed body. "Life in the countryside suits you," he said. No fat, no sagging; Thomas Doughtie still looked like a young man and when he blushed, looking down, his eyelashes casting incongruous shadows on his cheekbones, Drake laughed. "Teasing slut," he said softly. He was a strong man, as strong as before, and a year at sea had melted the unhealthy fat of his previous stay at Court. "Come here," he said, waving his hand. "Come to me."

He closed his eyes as Thomas pressed against him again and he kissed him. Drake was a man of action; aboard his ship he would make a show of lifting twice his weight. Throwing Thomas over his shoulder and down on the bed was no effort at all. "You like this," he said, smiling at Thomas' expression. "That I am stronger than you. That I can keep you down. That I can overpower you."

Thomas closed his eyes. "Sometimes," he said with a wily smile. "You are still dressed."

"Yes, and I shall remain so."

Drake unlaced the codpiece, pulling his thick cock out, and Thomas lay back on the bed, his eyes narrowed, following every one of Drake's moves.

"God," he said when Drake pulled him into position and straddled him. "I thought about this every night."

Drake did not answer, busy running his hands over the naked body lying on the bed. It had taken a long time and many fights to reach this state of abandon, teach Thomas to let his scruples aside, just lie there and let Drake touch him in the most intimate way. Making love had been easy, the frenzy of sex overcoming any modesty and pride. The last step had been taken when Doughtie had agreed to keep his eyes open.

Bending forward, Drake kissed him. Hoisting up his hips he impaled him on his cock, slowly, and God, the feeling, the sensation was incomparable to anything else he knew. Even greed did not rival this. He felt Thomas arch, he felt the strong fingers that had kept the horse quiet earlier curl around his arms, strong and bruising and Thomas lifted himself to take him deeper, moaning at the pain of the raw penetration, throwing his head back, a bead of sweat running down his forehead, his nose, catching in his beard. "God," he said, "Francis…."

"Tell me there was no one else. Tell me you were true to me!" Drake said, pushing himself deeper, smiling at the grimace of pain on Thomas' face. "Swear."

"I swear it to God, Francis. No one… no one lay a hand on me. Only you… It is only you."

Drake pulled back abruptly, shoving Thomas away, trembling with unrestrained lust, retrieving the jar of cream where Thomas usually left it by the bed and dipping his fingers in it.

When he took Thomas again, it felt like a storm was engulfing him. He forgot that he wanted to make it last, that he wanted to make it good and long, that he wanted to make Thomas beg. He thrust inside him as hard as he could, Thomas clawing at the sheets to avoid being thrown off the bed with the strength of every move. He fucked him until he was blind with exhaustion and his chest was threatening to explode and Thomas was whispering senseless obscenities, raising his hips, pushing back… At last he came with a shout.

"Jesus Christ," he said later when he was able to speak again, "They must have heard us from the Queen's room."

Thomas rolled on his side, an expression of sated laziness on his face, and smiled. "You said once you liked my voice."

"In bed I do. Sometimes I would rather you were silent," Drake said, frowning menacingly.

Thomas pulled Drake on top of him, taking his weight with obvious pleasure. It always surprised Drake how strong and supple Thomas was, how much strength he hid behind the gracious and easy appearance, how much hardness behind his long eyelashes. The fingers on his arms kept him still. "I will crush you," he said.

"I want you to crush me," Thomas said. They dozed off like that.

Later, Drake rubbed his face against Thomas' soft beard, kissed soft lips and felt muscled thighs lock around his waist. He was thrown over on his stomach, Thomas straddling him. "I want you," Thomas said, the tip of his hard cock nudging against Drake's ass. "Please. Let me. I shall let you do anything you want if you just…" he bit Drake's shoulder skin, "let me…" then his neck where the skin was unscarred, "come inside you."

Tempting. Drake sighed as if Doughtie's request was a huge sacrifice. It was not. He had learned to like it, although he found it slightly boring and somehow… Wrong. Count on Thomas to make it a different experience every time though. He relaxed at the touch of a questing tongue against his ass, and wondered briefly how Thomas could even think of doing something so disgusting. Then pleasure took over and he just let go, something he had learnt to do only with the gentleman. When he was thoroughly fucked and sated he turned on his back and pulled Thomas against him.

"Anything I want? Is that what you said?"

Thomas gave him a wary look. "Did I?"

"I am certain you did." Resting his palm against Thomas' cheek, he said, "I am taking you back with me."

He felt the muscles stiffen on Thomas' back. "The Queen…"

"The times when the Queen disliked you are gone and forgotten. Dudley's death extinguished those old rancid quarrels. Besides, I made it clear that I needed you. And there was an incentive. The Queen is curious by nature."

Thomas' wariness reached a new level, clearly visible in the way he lifted an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on Drake's face. "I do not like the sound of it."

Drake became serious. With a single move, he pinned Thomas to the bed, naked and warm beneath him. "Try trusting me. After all we went through…"

"After all you put me through." Thomas corrected coldly. The memory of a cold beach in Patagonia passed between them like a shadow, and moments when Thomas had seen his death in the Captain General's eyes, and heard the sound of the gallows being built.

"Try trusting me, Thomas," Drake said. "Once."

Thomas closed his eyes. "I trust you, Sir Francis. Only the Court… After the way Robert Dudley chased me out… I am not certain I can do it. I know he is dead but the humiliation was public and most of those who heard his words are still close to the Queen."

Drake had thought of the objection. It was the reason why he had not tried to pull Thomas out of his retreat before. That and the fact that at least in the heart of Surrey there were very little risks that anyone would dare lay a hand on his gentleman. His treasure. His possession. As he grew older though, reason had reasserted himself.

"The Queen will be pleased to see you. She might reward you. Your mansion is in great need of repair, Thomas. Stallions breeding is an expensive hobby and your sister's children need the best. You need support and money. At the moment Elizabeth cannot refuse me anything."

Thomas knew that. After his latest victories, the Queen's Dragon was a serious rival to Raleigh and even Essex' rising star did not eclipse his own.

"The opportunity is to be taken now, Thomas," Drake insisted. "It will not present itself again. Our Queen asked after you. I promised her to bring you back. With a surprise."

Thomas lay silent for a long time, his eyes closed, his heart beating loud against Drake's chest. Then he opened his eyes, looked deep into his lover's eyes and nodded curtly. "So be it. You had rather make the surprise interesting and good."

Drake looked at him with a cunning smile. "I shall, Thomas, I swear. I brought something back from the Azores that you will like to wear and that the Queen is interested to see on you."

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "A jewel."

"Call it that."

…………………….

Elizabeth received her Dragon in her comfortable carpeted room. She was in the company of one of her maids, one that no gentleman at Court had yet managed to turn away from her, like it had already happened twice. She stood behind her Queen, modest and dressed in a light blue dress that had no chance to rival Elizabeth's sumptuous attire, ornate with pearls and jewels. The Queen looked older, maybe, but still proud and beautiful in her regal way. A small dog was curled up by her side on a cushion that was worth more than Drake's doublet.

Doughtie should have been completely eclipsed by their splendour. He stood by Drake's side, his eyes cast down, dressed in black and brown, his longish hair still devoid of grey, his skin slightly tanned by the countryside life and his face the same handsome harmony it had always been so that compared to Drake he looked indeed like the more gentlemanly of the two.

"Are you not proud of our Dragon?" Elizabeth asked him with a slight smile, looking the gentleman up and down.

"I am indeed, your Majesty," Thomas said quietly.

"I should be grateful to you," she added, leaning back against the cushion of her chair. "You were the first to put your trust in him and support him."

Thomas nodded. "Thank you, your Majesty."

"I am awed at the fact that even though he nearly killed you, you seem quite attached to him."

"That was but a moment of misunderstanding, Madam," Drake said.

She smiled, ironic. "Of course. Misunderstandings can be so dangerous."

An uncomfortable silence that the Queen obviously enjoyed fell on the room. Then she commanded in an unusually soft tone. "Come closer, Thomas Doughtie."

He obeyed and bent his knee.

"Stand," she said, "so that I can take a good look at you."

She rose, standing a little stiff in her starched dress and circled the gentleman like a prey, Drake standing still behind them.

"You are such a handsome man, Doughtie. No wonder that my Dragon is so taken with you."

Fine legs, narrow hips, muscled arms and shoulders, a body lean and strong, perfect mouth and nose and eyes, and a mane of thick hair that she ruffled roughly. "I would see more of you," she said.

Drake held his breath. He had been schooling Doughtie for days, exhausting him with caresses, flattering him, mesmerizing him but he was not certain yet how far the gentleman was ready to go. To convince him that a moment of submission to the Queen's perverse whims was in no way a sin had raised rightful objections. Doughtie was a courtier at heart, had always been but to some extent, this was degradation and he was too old to trample his pride.

"Do it," Drake said, making his voice hard, fear gripping his heart. What if Doughtie forgot his lesson? What if Drake proved unable to train his gentleman to a semblance of temporary submission?

Doughtie shuddered, looking very much like the stallion he had been training on the day Drake had visited him. Much to Drake's relief though he disrobed slowly, making quite a show of it for the Queens and Drake's benefit.

He stood for a moment in his shirt and breeches and said, "If it would please your Majesty to finish the job…"

She hid her face for a couple of seconds behind her fan and finally put it down. "Well," she said, looking at Drake. "If Sir Francis agrees…"

Drake bowed deeply. He had no choice in this, the idea was his. Besides, having Thomas unwrapped like an expensive gift was exciting. He watched as she unlaced the shirt with nimble fingers and traced the exposed chest without comment. Thomas kept his eyes down, unsmiling, looking very much like he was being sacrificed to some heathen goddess. He had looked like that, Drake thought, during the day when he had thought he would be killed. The memory made him shudder.

"Shall I tear it off you, Doughtie?" the Queen asked, impatient.

To prevent his Queen of any effort and any undignified posture, Thomas fell down to his knees and raised his arms so that she could pull the shirt off. She patted his hair. "Good lad," she said with that irony that she used so well.

Thomas rose to his feet with the innate elegance that made him what he was – a gentleman – and waited. Elizabeth ran her fingers over his shoulders, pressed her palms flat against his nipples and Drake noticed the slight tightening around Thomas' mouth. He looked down to suppress a look of wild fury and heard the Queen's crystalline laugh.

Talking to her maid who was still standing in the background, silent and mesmerized, she said, "Our Dragon is greedy. He will not share."

Drake smiled slightly and that earned him a conniving look from his sovereign who went back to her task.

Doughtie had stepped out of his shoes and waited for the ceremony to go on. Elizabeth was swift and curiously shameless. When the Gentleman was naked entirely but his hoses, she looked down at his half-hard cock and said, "Ah. I see."

Thomas blushed deeply.

"Come here, Mary," Elizbeth said. "Come see this jewel."

"I brought it back from the Azores for you, your Majesty. Is it not beautiful?"

"It is indeed," the Queen said, staring at the golden, ruby inlaid large ring that trapped the base of Thomas' manhood, and shone under the sweet light of the candles.

Drake saw the maid hide her mouth behind her hand, not only because of the ring, probably. Thomas Doughtie was impressively hung and even not quite hard his sword looked thick and long enough to please the most demanding woman.

Slowly, looking Thomas deep in the eyes, the Queen ran her hand up and down his belly, his thighs, grazing the skin lightly and closed her fingers around his lengthening cock. "I hope you make good use of this," she whispered, and Thomas blushed again.

She might be a virgin, Drake thought, but she knew men very well. She teased the head of Thomas' cock and stroked it from the base to the tip, pressed her fingers against his perineum until he had to bite his lips to shut back a moan.

Doughtie was trembling.

Drake took two steps forward and came to stand behind him, the warm back of his lover pressed against his clothes. Throwing a hand around his waist, he stilled him, biting the lobe of his ear softly. "Come on," he said, "you are so handsome."

The Queen unfastened the jewel expertly and stepped back, allowing Doughtie to rest his body more heavily against Drake. She pressed the jewel against her lips, kissed it, giving Drake a wicked smile, and lifted it to the light. The rubies were a vivid red and shone brightly. The gold was brilliant and smooth. "Worth a fortune," she said.

Looking at the two men she smiled. "This room is yours for the time being," she said and walked out without a further glance, her maid on her heels. "You might want to finish what I started."

The door closed.

"She will be watching us somehow. We are expected to give her a show," Drake said, pressing Thomas' back harder against his chest, kissing his shoulders, running his beard against the gentleman's soft skin. "How do you think we should do it?"

Thomas threw his head back, resting his head against Drake's shoulder. "Like rutting animals," he whispered. "She wants to feel superior, justified in her choice of remaining… chaste."

"Will you like it?"

"You know me too well to ask such a question, Sir Francis."

Drake laughed and stepped back, disrobing. On the floor he spotted a hairpin that had fallen from one of the women's complicated hair. One side was a precious pearl, the other one sharp metal. Closing his palm around it he stood up, smiling, feeling powerful and strong next to Thomas' lean form. It was a mere illusion of course but an exciting one.

He would not kiss Thomas – that would come later. Pressing his demanding hardness against the gentleman's round buttocks, he bit down on the shoulder he had kissed, hard enough to mark and extended his palm where the sharp pin lay.

"Jesus," Thomas moaned softly. "Why do I want this so much?"

Drake had no answer to that, and he did not care. He loved that Doughtie was so contradictory, so pliant and yet so proud and touchy. He rubbed his other hand against Thomas' nipples until they were hard and ready and asked softly, "Which one?"

"Your choice. It will hurt like hell in any case."

Drake pushed the pin across the gentleman's left nipple, blood rushing to his groin when Thomas cried out and collapsed to the floor. He wondered what the Queen was doing at the moment while watching. Was she holding her maid? Was she – he almost blushed at the sacrilegious thought – pleasuring herself? She was a woman after all, her needs the same as any other.

He knelt behind Thomas and searched the wounded nipple, touched it, felt desire pulse so hard in his loins that he could have come at once.

A convenient cup of scented oil provided the required lubricant and when Thomas was slick, trembling with the anticipation, Drake entered him forcefully, making him cry out again. There was no need to drag it out. His hands on the gentleman's hips, he thrust in and out with unrestrained fury, letting his hand roam up to the pin, smearing a droplet of blood while Thomas pushed frantically back, raising his ass, spreading his legs wider, resting his hands flat on the tiled floor, his cheek against the cold surface. Some more vigorous thrust and he was coming, a hand wrapped around his cock. Drake followed, the last thrusts growing hectic and violent.

Drake rose from the floor, gathering Thomas in his arms, their chests pressed together, the pain of the inserted pin making Thomas wince. Lowering his head, Drake kissed it. "All right?"

Thomas nodded and stretched luxuriously against Drake's body.

Drake helped him dress up. He removed the pin without gentleness like he had done with arrows on wounded mariners. Thomas arched his back and bit his lips and that was all.

Drake had given up understanding him and his needs. In due time, when Thomas would be ready, he would explain. Now he walked by Drake's side along the deserted corridors and towards Drake's house where he would spend some time, waiting for the Queen's decision.

…………………….

The night fell and Thomas still seemed absent, pliant under Drake's caresses, accepting them as a due, gradually relaxing under the hands petting his tired body, his knotted shoulders, his tense thighs, his silky hair. Eventually he rested his big hand on Doughtie's soft cock and the gentleman closed his eyes with a relieved sigh.

Drake spent a long time watching him. He had come so very close to killing him. He remembered those fifteen fateful minutes they had spent in the tent before the impending execution. He had been torn between the necessity to make an example and the grief of losing Doughtie. Suddenly Thomas had lifted tired eyes on him – he had been praying for hours – and said, "there is one last thing I would ask of you, Francis."

Drake had frowned. He hated last minute requests, they were impossible to refuse of course and as impossible to respect later. He'd nodded curtly enough that his wariness was clearly visible to the gentleman who had smiled and said, "Nothing that will commit you too far, really, Good Captain."

"Ask away then," Drake had growled.

Thomas had seemed to think about it for a moment and sighed. "Maybe it will alienate any sympathy you ever had for me – which would be for the best after all. Please Francis. Will you kiss me?"

Drake had stood there stupid for a whole minute trying to convince himself that he had misheard the gentleman's words. He must have looked fairly stupid. The way Thomas had said "kiss" had left no place to misunderstanding and beyond the pleading look in his eyes Drake could read the challenge. "If such a thing can make you happy," he had shrugged, his heart constricted in alarm. "Do you not fear for your immortal soul?"

Thomas had shaken his head, looking a little shamed – ah, so Drake was not the only one scared. "I made my peace with God about this too."

There was no way of delaying it any longer. Of course Drake could have feigned horrified disgust but Thomas had known that his friend was not adverse to having sex with cabin boys, although he had been remarkably chaste, like them all, during that very journey. But fucking a young terrified mariner did not entail kissing him. Drake had taken one step forward and for a second Thomas had looked like he was about to bolt. Grabbing him by the shoulders in a forceful grip, Drake had pulled the gentleman against his chest and pressed his mouth against the soft full lips, remembering how sensuously they had parted to take communion, how intense the moment had been and how Fletcher, although a servant of God, had seemed shaken. Drake had parted those lips with his mouth and deepened the kiss. When Thomas had melted against him, Drake had felt like he was set on fire and he'd known with perfect clarity that there was no way he would allow this man to die and deprive him from such a foreseeable pleasing future. Now he just had to figure out a way out of this.

He sighed. Doughtie was dreaming, whispering soft senseless words and sighing. "Shhhhhhhhh, Thomas, all is well," Drake said, the thread of memories suddenly interrupted. "Sleep."

The hardest part had been negotiating with Wynter. He had offered to take Doughtie onboard his own ship earlier but then he seemed wary, wondering what new ploy had formed in the tyrannical Captain's mind. Drake had not been ready to admit how desperate he'd been feeling. He had faked generosity and altruism. He had reflected on his past friendship with the gentleman, he'd said. How often they had saved each other's lives in Ireland. He had prayed all night long, he'd told the pious Wynter, and God had asked him to take mercy on Doughtie, whose intentions had been only dictated by England's greater good. And so Drake would. It had taken a long time to convince Wynter but finally Drake had won. He had dragged Doughtie forcefully before the assembly of mariners, grabbed him by the hair and made him kneel before announcing the news to the assembly of mariners and gentlemen. Doughtie had not been warned of the Captain's act of grace; Drake had felt him shake under his hand. Once he had spoken he had looked at the men. He had read disappointment on some faces and relief on many others. Younger Doughtie had almost broken down in tears and Vycarie's smile had been luminous. Drake had feared that his authority would be frayed by his sudden change of plans. In the end he had managed to make it a display of mercy.

"You could have warned me," Doughtie had told him later, sitting on the bed, trembling in an agony of nerves.

"It would not have looked natural. You were absolutely perfect."

Then he had thrown him down on his back and fucked him.

Little had he predicted that that coward Wynter would turn tail in the storm and deprive him of his newly gained lover for almost two years. Little could he have known that Dougthie's return would be seen as cowardice by the rancorous Dudley, that part of his fortune would be confiscated and the gentleman banned from the Court.

Those days were over. Tomorrow, the Queen would summon Doughtie to the Court and relieve him from the old unfair sentence. She would grant him a pension and at last Drake would be able to enjoy his lover's company freely for as long as he was at land, which meant months of living together, endless fights and delightful nights spent making up.

Sometimes, life turned out to be just what you wished.

On that he fell asleep, his precious prize gathered in his arms and securely held.

Fin!


End file.
